WipEout Advance
by Light Onthemayo
Summary: Caiar, a new team to anti-gravity racing, is having problems left and right. The team is plagued by malfunctioning equipment, crashes, fighting, speed, law-breaking, and a nicotine addiction that just won't go away. Will Tamaki Hayashi and this misfit crew make it through to the next racing league? Or will they all wind up killing each other first?
1. Sammy Hagar Rides Shotgun

Chapter One: Sammy Hagar Rides Shotgun

…

Porto Kora. One of the major port cities on the coast of the Maghrib originally thriving on trans-oceanic trade on behalf of Morocco, the port itself almost felt like a ghost town in itself, far removed from the city Asfi in favor of the restored port much closer in geography. This was probably the reason that Porto Kora had been transformed into a racetrack, although the Portuguese-built wharf might have been a contributing factor as well; everyone knew that most of the Maghrib was trying to rid itself of foreign influences for the past seven years. The wharf itself held two lanes wide enough for almost five anti-gravity crafts to squeeze by each other. The right lane, distinguished from the main racing circuit by the braking panels built over the asphalt, lay dark save for the shimmering of summer sun across its rough, glass surface.

The left lane, and by extension the whole track, was a marred mat of light grey bearing the scars and charred debris of race contenders past. Nothing large, of course; a piece of paneling here, an ugly scrap there. The lack of wind allowed the debris to remain as is since the start of the year. And, being summer in Morocco, the chances of rain washing away those bits of broken anti-gravity craft were an absolute zero. To the lone pilot on the course, even with its flaws, it was still the most beautiful course ever.

"One foot on the brake! And one on the gas! Hey!"

The diamond-shaped AGC banked out of the wide turn leading back into the wharf area. It gave an uncertain wobble as the pilot settled it into the center of the track. The black-and-white striping of the start line flew by at over two hundred miles per hour. The craft itself was a blur of darker grey against the asphalt, rushing past the deserted stands with resounding _vreeeew_ that kicked up trash hiding between the seats. It dove under the thirty-meter-high, black display screen, a screen which, a century ago, would have displayed the infamous "Tub Head" mascot of the F7200 Anti-Gravity Racing League. Now, though, it was just a large black spot on the heads-up-display.

The first turn was soft, an easy bank to the right without need for the airbrake. The craft gave a gentle waver as it attempted to settle with the angle of the track. The trees on the hillside to the left became not much more than a green stripe, but the flora on the right was easily distinguishable. It almost felt like swinging in a hammock on a lazy afternoon, allowing the breeze to waft a person to sleep. And the palm trees in this section of the track only added to the feel of a relaxing day. It almost seemed a pity to be trapped inside the cockpit of a vehicle travelling two hundred miles per hour.

"Well, there's too much traffic. I can't pass, no."

But then the second turn arrived, and the pilot jerked the control stick to the left hard. Depressing the left foot pedal extended the thick airbrake, causing the craft to slow. The rear of the craft slid, and the nose pointed into the turn. This would have given any observer a clear view of the craft from one of the many abandoned office buildings it had passed before entering the turn. The craft had a flat, blade-like body about twenty meters long, its nose ending in a flat plate as if the point had been cut off. The body sported black paint along its edges, broken by yellow stripes lining some of the panels across the surface. In the center of the craft was a silver diamond around an angled canopy. The airbrakes sat on either side of the craft past the canopy, one breaking the surface to reveal its metallic interior while maintaining its acute position on a pair of telescoping actuators mounted to the front. A pair of engine nacelles, cupping the rear in a V shape, hung from the back end of the main body on a pair of thick, diagonal struts. The nacelles had a flat, compact look with one end serving as air intake and the other emitting blue thrust light.

"So I tried my best… illegal… move."

The next turn came quick as well, and the pilot pitched the craft back to the right, this time opening the right airbrake. The craft's drift threatened to add another scrape to the already battered steel railing lining the track. The change came at the right time, however, and the craft tore away from the lighthouse on the hill above with no incident.

"A big black and white come and crush my groove! Agaaaaaaaaaaain!"

The pilot saw the weathered billboard ahead and turned the craft left again. The airbrake only rose for a moment to make sure that the craft did not hit the wall, then clapped back into the craft's surface.

"Go on and write me up for one twenty-five!"

The throttle thrown full open, the craft began to gain speed in the small stretch of straight track ahead of it. The pilot wanted this. There was a special jump up ahead, and this time, the jump would be spectacular. It should; having memorized the course over and over again gave the pilot confidence to do something awesome.

"Post my face wanted dead or alive."

Another left turn, an easy one like the turn before.

And there it was. The palm trees, cliffs, and office buildings gave way to a torn, orange banner fluttering above the track. Beyond this, the edges of the track rose into a canyon of steel and concrete.

"Take my license. All that jive."

The track curved upwards, threatening to scratch the underside of the anti-gravity craft if it came too close. The concrete above the steel guard plates changed into the triangular support structures of a bridge. More speed built as the craft approached the end of the bridge.

A bridge that did not connect to the track beyond. Past the archway ahead, the asphalt ended in a sharp dive straight into the channel. It was possible that, at one point, the bridge connected to the other side; the track was built on one of the main trucking routes to Asfi. However, the people who designed the course for the F7200 had seen fit to increase the adrenaline already pumping through a pilot's veins by removing the other end of the bridge.

"I!"

This was it. Even if the pilot cut the engine and slammed the airbrakes on, the lack of traction with the asphalt below would allow the craft to simply continue on up the bridge. In fact, cutting the engine past the halfway point on the bridge was a sure way to swan-dive into the drink. The only consulting fact was that the channel was shallow enough that the AGC would bash against the bottom, ensuring a pilot's quick death rather than being swept out into the Atlantic just to die at the bottom due to failing structural integrity.

"Can't!"

Full power. Nothing to prevent this jump.

"Drive!"

At the last moment, the pilot jerked back on the stick and gave both airbrakes a quick kick. The resulting dip in acceleration caused the craft to pull away from the road just as it reached the apex of the severed bridge.

"Fifty-fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiive!"

The windows in the canopy filled with the blue of the sky above. The tranquility, however, suffered at the wail of rock music playing through the craft's internal stereo. Still, the pilot had waited for this moment, this perfection. A beloved song, the feel of almost flying, the lack of care. Time felt as if it had slowed itself. All sensation of gravity had left, everything in the craft suddenly suspended weightless in the air almost as if it finally achieved complete anti-gravity.

Then came sight of the office building on the other side of the jump. And the exposed rock of the cliff directly in front of the track. The pilot steered into the next turn, hoping to get a start on it as soon as the craft dropped.

_BAN!_ The whole craft jerked when the nose bashed into the asphalt. That was a different sensation; the nose had never pitched down hard like that before. The edge of the track, topped by more triangular framework to prevent hotshot pilots from accelerating over the edge of the track into the breakers below, bounced before the craft.

Then the nose pitched into the ground again. A horrible, grinding sound filled the cockpit as the craft's front end scraped along the ground. The singer's voice disappeared in the tumult of klaxons suddenly sounding left and right. The pilot attempted to jerk the stick, but the craft refused to pitch. This caused the pilot to audibly gulp as the edge of the track sped closer.

Then, in about half a second, the pilot's vision was obscured by flash-expanding foam fired from emergency panels all over the cockpit. Total blackness protected the pilot from the ensuing crash which tossed the craft down the track. The pilot only had one thing on mind as the craft continued to vibrate with its long, record-breaking skid across the old racetrack.

_Whoops_.


	2. Just a Crack

Chapter Two: Just a Crack

…

"Didn't I tell you not to pull that crap?! Now you've gone 'n wrecked the damn craft!"

Hayashi Tamaki barely budged in response. Her long, black hair completed her disguise as a discolored void resting on the maintenance desk, although its purpose was to maintain anonymity among the garage crew rather than any sort of camouflage that allowed her to hide in plain sight. The latter would be stupid anyway; her nearly skin-tight racing suit sported grey about her chest and back, complimented (supposedly) by yellow accents forming panels on her shoulders and thighs and vent-like stripes about her ribs, arms, and calves.

It made her look like an anthropomorphic version of the anti-gravity craft held in the maintenance suspensor ten meters in front of her.

"Hey! Look at me when I'm talkin' to ya!"

Tamaki groaned at the thick, Tennessee twang addressing her. She finally unburied her face from her crossed arms and looked up at William Fairland. He stood up straight, posturing himself like a father who has just caught his daughter with a boy. His brow framed his scowling, cobalt-blue eyes, and his stubble-covered jaw, against its habit of perpetually chewing gum, was set. His arms were crossed over a jacket sporting a similar design scheme to her racing suit, complete with "CAIAR" written vertically down the front. William was a large man, six-foot-two with a wide set of shoulders which did not fit his jacket too well. His usual hat was missing (likely thrown after watching the AGC leave a skid mark), allowing his thick, dark-blond hair to show its wild, messy nature.

"Didn't I tell ya?" he asked.

"Nn," Tamaki answered.

"And?!"

Tamaki did not want to reply further. Part of her reason for napping on the maintenance panel was to try sleeping off the soreness she felt after the impact. While the safety foam was cushioning enough to save her from dying in a wreck, it had felt similar to jumping off of a bed onto a pair of body pillows. The headache she had received from her helmet's less-than-adequate padding had fallen just short of a concussion, and she still sported a red mark on her forehead.

She narrowed her almond-shaped eyes before turning her head sideways to rest it on her arms. "I did."

"You. Did."

"I wanted to have fun."

William's left arm swung to indicate the craft behind him. "You bottomed-out the fuckin' craft!"

"I did before. Not a problem then."

William planted his hands on the level surface of the desk hard, although the solidity of the desk prevented him from making any significant noise. "Well, it's a problem now!"

"Then fix it."

"Woman, if you hadn't just had an accident, I'd yank you up from that console just to knock ya back on your ass!"

Irritation gave way to anger, and Tamaki pushed herself to her feet immediately. She attempted to offset William's height with her own five-foot-seven frame. Unfortunately, she was neither muscular nor curvy, leaving her body often described as "perky" by members of the team. "Tomarasenēde, Bill!" she spat in her native Japanese. "Tatakaitai nara soko made tomaru nante hitsuyou _neh_!"

"You wanna fight?!" William responded, although he had not entirely understood her. "Let's go!"

"Ô, Chủ!" someone called from above the craft.

"Gì!" William snapped over his shoulder.

The man on top of the craft peeked over the side, unsure as to whether William had said that in response to him or not. When he saw that Tamaki and William looked close to brawling, he timidly said, "Đề nghị đây vào. Tôi nghĩ tôi biết vấn đề."

William gave a quick sideways glance over his shoulder, trying to keep Tamaki in the corner of his eye. The man on top of the craft, an older, round-faced man named Giang Thành Dũng, waved him up with one of the diagnostic instruments in his hand. With a sigh, William turned back to Tamaki and told her, "You stay there and figure out which end gets buried."

"Dou demo iiiiiinda," she taunted, holding up her right middle finger. "Yarareru no wa omae da."

William ignored her as he spun towards the craft. The air above and below it wavered from the force of the maintenance suspensor's anti-gravity plates protruding from the floor and ceiling. It left the black craft hovering about halfway in the air, tethered in place by tight ropes and magnets hanging from the ceiling. He had to locate the ladder at the nose of the battered craft, having yet to climb on top. The ladder wobbled as he climbed, but he ignored it, knowing that the AG plate would catch him for a few seconds before pinning him against the craft's underside and potentially squeezing him to death. When he set foot on the craft's dorsal surface, he could feel his steps grow heavier due to the counter-force generated by the AG plate above him.

Dũng was squat inside one of the maintenance panels, his attention focused on something underneath him. Another panel lay next to the maintenance panel, cluing William that Dũng was looking at some of the internal workings of the craft's anti-gravity system. He stepped up to the edge of the panel and asked in calm Vietnamese, "Ông tìm gì?"

Dũng looked up and nodded. "Tôi biết nguyên nhân tai nạn giao thông. Chủ nhìn đi."

"Look at…" William trailed off when Dũng held the phone-sized instrument in his face. He took the device and held it at a comfortable distance so that he could read the Vietnamese display. The information made him frown. "Aw, hell. Ông làm chất lượng máy quét bao giờ?"

Dũng gave a nervous grin. "Tôi không làm."

William raised an eyebrow at him. "Không bao giờ không?"

"Không bao giờ," he answered with a nod.

William, after a moment of wrinkling his nose, returned the device. "There's gonna be no livin' with her now." Dũng gave him a curious look, glanced back towards the maintenance desk, and then decided to return to work. William stepped to the edge of the craft and called down to Tamaki, who was standing in front of the desk, "We gotta replace the whole AG plate. It's covered in micro-fractures."

"Hah!" Tamaki shouted at him.

"Don't 'hah' me!" William snapped. "We still got damage to a bunch'a the forward mechanics, not to mention all the busted plating on the body." To emphasize his point, he pointed to a damaged body plate on the edge near him. "You still broke it. The only thing savin' your ass is that this could've happened anytime."

"What could've happened?"

William frowned at the new, female voice. Then he realized that someone was sitting at the maintenance desk behind Tamaki. "Oh. Mean," he groaned. Then, in a louder voice, he asked, "Hey, Mean. Where the hell'd we get this front AG plate?"

Minnah Almadīnah glanced down at the tablet sitting to one side of the desk. Then she picked it up and, pulling a stylus from the top, started working on it. Tamaki, turning to her, crossed her arms in irritation at Minnah's lack of response. In the silence, William returned to the ladder and climbed down to the floor. She was still tapping away at the touch screen of her tablet as he stepped up to the desk, so he exchanged a glare with Tamaki.

"I found it," Minnah said, interrupting their staring contest. She stood, displaying her scrawny, five-foot-five frame underneath a combination of white blouse, black slacks, and open team jacket. Her hair was plaited and draped over her left shoulder, although she had left her bangs short enough to cover her forehead. "It looks like…"

William frowned at her. "Y'know, when you pause like that, it means you ain't got good news."

She sighed. "It came from a used parts dealer in Đa Nang."

William nodded his understanding. "Right. What'd it come off of, an air bus?"

"Yes. A seven-year-old air bus. And it was involved in an accident."

William growled in frustration. "Great. The Haiphong fuck-ups strike again."

"Was it a dealer or a junkyard!?" Tamaki asked.

"I don't know!" Minnah replied, holding her hands up in surrender. "I just read the notes the engineering team left!"

"Well, now we ain't got a forward AG plate!" William shouted.

"Now wait a minute!" Minnah shouted at him, holding a hand out to him. "Listen. We're in Assegai and Feisar territory. We might be able to get a replacement plate from a parts dealer somewhere nearby."

"If Caiar was any kind'a team, they'd have built their own instead of scrounging," William told her.

"We will have new parts when that part of development actually _produces_ something with profit," Minnah said. "They only had two months to put _this_ craft together in time for qualifications."

"Well, for the record, if I hadn't been stuck in Hanoi when Caiar decided to slap this team together, I'd've told them where they could shove this job."

Minnah glared at him. "_I_ am _not_ the one who gave you this job, Bill. Your grumpiness is wasted ranting at me."

"So we need a new AG plate," Tamaki broke in. "How long?"

Minnah gave an indefinite shrug. "I may be able to locate one in the next two days."

"We should be back in Granada then," William said. "We'll have access to a machine shop, so we can probably get it cut and fitted into the craft in two more days."

"So I'll be back to racing by the weekend," Tamaki concluded with a smile.

"You, _Tam_," William said with an irate color in his voice, "will be taking it easy until the Zone trial next week."

Tamaki gave a sigh. "Are you serious? Sit on my _butt_ for a week."

"You got the details for the trial. Practice. You can use the simulator at the racing office in Granada."

"It's not the same. I wanna use the craft."

"Get over it! No more racing! If you bust up this craft before we get to the first race, we're instantly disqualified! It's enough the _company_ is a bunch of idiots; we don't need our pilot to be one!"

"I'm not going to crash it, Bill!"

"You already have! _Five times!_"

"The straightaway in Córdoba does not count! If the safety system had not triggered, I would not have crashed into that hangar!"

"We've been trouble-shootin' this damn thing for five weeks! It's time both'a you had a rest!"

"AAGH! Mukatsuku!" Tamaki spun on her heel and started across the garage.

"Tam! Hey, where the hell d'you think you're goin'?!"

"Tsutaeru ka?! Yokei na sewa da!"

"Tam!" William's snap caused her to pause halfway to the door outside. "One week! Your ass better be back in Granada in one week!"

"Wakatteru! Mou damatte kure!" Tamaki spun again and jogged to the door before William could shout at her anymore. He and Minnah stared at the empty doorway for a moment, almost as if expecting Tamaki to return.

"Ô, Chủ!" Dũng called from above. "Chủ nên chúng tôi làm gì về chống trọng lực bản không?"

William sighed and pulled a mangled box from his pants pocket. "Hãy chuyển đi. Hãy chui."

Minnah looked down at her tablet, noticing that it had received a reply to the earlier query she had sent the development team about the AG plate. Her eyes snapped back up at the sound of a lighter clicking. "Bill…" she sighed.

"Don't you go startin' on me about smokin'," he immediately told her, cigarette pinched between his lips. He held it still when his aged Zippo lighter finally produced a flame. After a puff to light the cigarette, he added, "I got enough trouble."

"The doctor told you to quit weeks ago," she pointed out.

William blew out a large cloud of smoke. "Well the doc ain't here dealin' with a hot-headed AGC pilot. If he stood here and saw that fight we just had, he'd be begging me for a smoke."

"Having a cigarette after a fight is not any better than dealing with Tam."

"It keeps me from killing her!"

Minnah watched him take another drag. Then she busied herself with the tablet. "Do you want me to send a request for a new AG plate to the home office?"

"Those idiots'll just send us another piece of crap," he answered. "We'll find one when we hit Granada tonight."

"Tonight? What about Tam?"

"What about her?" He paused for another drag. Then he looked up at the ceiling. "That little idiot's gonna do what she wants. I ain't gonna be much surprised if we get a call tonight because the Moroccan police hauled her ass in. Or she killed herself on a public road."

"Would that make you feel better?"

He turned his eyes to her and met her intent stare. Cowed, he flicked ashes onto the concrete floor and took another puff. "Not really, no. It'd probably just make my job worse."

"So why would you let her just walk out?"

William gave a huff of laughter. "Whaddya want me to do? Duct tape her and toss her in back of the truck?"

"At least have someone drive her home. Or go with her."

"Don't you remember what happened when we sent Minh with her?"

"Okay, so the worst that could happen is that we lose an hour because she stranded someone else on a highway in another country. I would feel better about doing that than letting her go without anyone knowing where."

"She's out to stir up trouble. If she gets caught, it'll serve her right."

"And if she dies?"

"You ain't gonna make me feel sorry or worried about Tam Hayashi! She wants to go kick some cop in the balls? _Fine_! I ain't gonna hold her hand!"

Minnah stared at him for a moment. Then she sighed, deciding not to pester him about it anymore. Instead, she opened up a word processor on her tablet. "What else do we need for the craft?"

William sighed out his next drag. "I don't know. Some more plating. Replacement cylinders for the safety system. New pilot…"

Minnah pointedly glared at him.


	3. The IPA Couldn't Catch a Cold

Chapter Three: The IPA Couldn't Catch a Cold

…

The speed limit was one hundred twenty kilometers per hour crossing Morocco into Aljazair. Tamaki crossed them going one hundred forty-five mainly because she did not care. The local cops did not like getting into high-speed chases anyway; they tended to cause much more collateral damage. So Tamaki's old, 2202 Nissan Stormline continued on as an undisturbed, red bolt across the Tell Atlas Coastal Superhighway, dodging through four lanes of slow, early-evening commuters on her way… somewhere. William had made her furious, and she wanted to distance herself from the team until her head cleared itself of all the bickering. Her idea of distance, however, would have preferred going all the way back to Japan. Or at least the Philippines, where she could at least pretend that Caiar had not found her in the first place. However, she had already spent the first six hundred kilometers talking herself out of it, figuring that someone might eventually decide to put an end to her reckless driving. Besides, she did not have the gas money.

The clock in her dashboard said 2027, already automatically adjusted to pick up the local time. The sun still had yet to disappear over the horizon behind her, forming a red disk in her rearview mirror every time the highway reached a peak. The Mediterranean looked like a sheet of dark blue to her left, but that may have been because her car's steering wheel was on the right and Aljazairan traffic drove on the right. She was not in the right mindset to watch the sea anyway; she had to weave through motorists that could not see her coming. The engine growled louder when she decided to up the speed another ten kilometers with the cruise control's selector switch. At least she did not have to think about keeping her foot on the accelerator.

Drives like this had been rare for her lately. Between getting use to piloting an AGC, crashing said AGC, and being hospitalized a couple of times because of said crashing, taking a regular, four-wheeled vehicle out onto the road provided a sense of nostalgia. The racing circuits back in Tokyo and the Philippines had been like childhood parks for her since her second year of high school. For seven years, she spent most of her time tearing up pavement (and a few cars in the process) trying to make her mark on the world as a street racer that did not need to be crossed. She had not quite achieved the badass identity she wanted, but it had brought her a different kind of opportunity she had not really expected: anti-gravity racing. The prospect had not thrilled her when the Caiar representative first approached her after a difficult victory at Tacloban; to her, AG racing had not had the same substance as auto racing. Less excitement, more danger. She had seen multimillion dollar crafts bashed to bits in the highlights of the preliminaries leading up to the FX400. The footage from the Sol 2 Air Speedway had been especially jarring since two crafts had bounced over the track's barrier and fell all the way into the Atlantic Ocean, killing their pilots on impact and throwing Triakis and Icarus out of the running. Tamaki had thought she could find a better way to die at high speed, but she had decided to at least humor the man. Once they had sat her down in Caiar's premiere craft, she had discovered that AG racing had not been as bad as she had thought.

It was worse.

No contact with the ground meant that the braking system on the AG craft would only slow you down long enough for you to read the corporate advertisement on the billboard you were about to smash. And while a car could take a bang or two against a wall, AG craft had a horrible tendency to bounce at least ten times if you could not get it under control. The thruster system pitched the craft instead of turning it, so it was easy to lose sight of whatever happened to be coming at you from one side. The jet engines that all AGC teams were required to use turned what might be a minor leap in a car to almost half a minute of praying to whatever god you worshiped that you could learn how to land this airplane in that time. Cars bottomed out; craft bottomed out and lost parts.

Caiar being Caiar did not help with her impression. In the past month and a half, the craft their engineering division had built had taken a bird strike which disabled an airbrake, crashed its own on-board computer, prematurely triggered its crash safety system into her face, put a hole in the fuel tank and set fire to the test track in Granada (to the consternation of the Mirage and Caliber teams), cut off its own air supply with its shield in the middle of a test run, and finished busting up its forward anti-gravity plate. Granted, most of these incidents were preceded by the craft striking something. Still, the AGC was a piece of crap, suspected of having been put together using whatever scrap the Caiar engineers could dig out of Haiphong or Hanoi. If they expected it to run in a closed circuit with seven other AGCs, Tamaki could see the team not even making it through the first race intact.

However, she had to admit to herself that it _was_ fun. Without contact with the ground, an anti-gravity craft could easily top 300 km/h on a straightaway (which might have had some influence on the safety system firing and her colliding with a hangar on a private airport). When tapping the airbrakes caused it to drift, it was like sliding on a cloud. Turning with the airbrakes and the stick felt like an elaborate dance. The feel of the accelerator in her hand gave her a rush whenever she pushed the throttle full open. Every jump turned into flight. If she was ever thrown out of AGC racing, she just might have to become an aircraft pilot to relive those thrills.

For now, though, she let nostalgia take over her body for the evening. The vibrations of the road through her driving gloves, the toying with the gear stick as she waited to downshift, the smooth use of the clutch… She almost missed a sign advertizing the junction with the Trans-Mediterranean International Highway, such was the brilliance of the Assegai advertisement next to it. The Stormline reached the top of the hill before the junction, and Tamaki could see that no one in front of her was in position to turn onto the highway and no one was using the ramp. So she killed the cruise control, aimed the car at the far right lane, and downshifted. Then, where the exit ramp split from the Atlas highway, Tamaki jerked the car into a skid and laid into the accelerator so that she was drifting up the ramp. The car squealed in protest as it continued around the curve. Tamaki had never taken this highway before, so she could not be sure what might be at the other end of the ramp. Her mouth formed an uncontrolled grin as the car came closer to the concrete barrier blocking her from falling back onto the Atlas highway. Her foot worked the accelerator on its own, familiar with how to control a drift. Three years racing the Tokyo Underground had trained her to take a curve like this. The only thing missing from the excitement was her classic rock collection, written onto the MLD that she forgot to take out of the AGC. She could use some AC/DC right now; "Highway to Hell" seemed appropriate enough.

The ramp opened into a new lane on the highway, and she straightened out the car. Then she laid into the accelerator again to take the car up to 160 km/h just to spite the 100 km/h speed limit sign she just passed. Here, she did not have as much traffic to contend with. She set the cruise control again and relaxed against the worn leather of her seat.

Her left hand lifted from the gear shift to the display screen in the center console. For a moment, she considered calling up the team to see if they had returned to Granada yet. But then that would imply that she cared. Then she thought about calling up Mean to ask about local attractions. She nixed it because she realized that she did not know where this particular route of the Trans-Mediterranean International Highway went. So she dialed in the GPS navigator and zoomed it out far enough to see the opposite coast.

France.

Well, at least it would give her some opportunity to practice her French. For a moment, she thought about switching on the autodrive so she could take a nap.

Then she saw flashing lights in the rearview mirror. Green on the left, red on the right. The International Police Agency, and they were hailing her car. They likely had a speed trap set up somewhere near the on-ramp which she must have missed out of lack of regard for their presence. Too bad the police override had not worked on her car since she beat it to death with a hammer three years ago; she could see the override light on her dash panel flashing. She turned off the media computer so they could not track her with it. The plate would be the only means of identifying her.

So it was her resolution to not let them see it. A mad grin growing on her face, she dropped the Stormline out of overdrive and planted the accelerator into the floor.

The distinct _whup-wrrrrrrrrh, whup-wrrrrrrrrh_ of an IPA cruiser caught up with her as the police driver decided to give chase. Tamaki would have been more surprised if the cruiser had not; the IPA was not as easy to duck as local cops, nor was it as lazy. She still had a long sprint ahead of her, which included a lengthy time in which the cruiser could call ahead to France to organize a roadblock.

Oh, well. It should be fun while it lasted.

The sun was nearly set in the sky to her left, and vehicles were already switching on their running lights. This made them a little easier to identify, although she still had only a few seconds to avoid them courtesy her 180 km/h run. She had to slow down a few times to slide to one side or the other due to some cars filling two or three lanes at any given time. It allowed the IPA cruiser to close, so she was sure to hit 200 km/h just long enough to keep it away. At one point, light on the right caught her eye. A quick check in the mirror showed an active IPA cruiser traveling in the opposite direction, probably heading for a crossover further back. She was glad that the road had switched to left-sided traffic; it felt a lot more familiar. Slower traffic would be on the far left, so remaining on the inside of the highway would help her keep up her speed. Hell, it would let her pick up more speed. She could see a fair distance down the road, and it was clear for a while, so she let the car speed up to 210 km/h. At this rate, she would be in France in… she had forgotten to double-check the GPS before she turned it off, and she could not do it now or else they might get into it and find out who she was. But her last memory of it put her just fifteen minutes into the drive, so she guessed at about three hours.

About half an hour later, two more IPA cruisers joined their friend. They were getting a little more daring, picking up speed to catch her. But they also had something working with and against them; between the three cruisers, their synchronized sirens caused the sound to travel further ahead, resulting in traffic pulling to the left to get out of the way. She became mystified by the semblance to the AGC test courses she had been on. And these roads were so much smaller than an AGC course. She shook her head, deciding that her mind was playing with her. She could not afford the distraction lest someone ahead of her could not hear the IPA sirens.

Another set of lights caught her attention from the sideview mirror, and this time, she felt a little worried. It was an AGC hovering about twenty meters from the surface of the road, the front end of its hull illuminated with IPA signal lights. The pros and cons presented themselves to Tamaki in the following order:

Pro: Despite being an anti-gravity craft, the IPA pursuit craft was heavier due to all of the equipment it had to carry.

Pro: The Caiar craft could easily get away from that.

Con: She was not driving the Caiar craft; she was driving a 2202 Nissan Stormline.

Con: She was on a straightaway, and that craft could accelerate to full speed without having to worry about turning or traffic.

Pro: The Stormline still had a good engine.

So she increased speed to 225 km/h. She knew the car hit the redline above 13000 rpm, so she had to hope that the AGC could not gain on her any more than that.

Unfortunately, it did. Even at 255 km/h, the IPA craft caught up to her enough to flash spotlights on her car. An amplified voice called out to her, but she could not hear it well enough above the engine noise even to tell what language it was. She increased to 265 km/h, hoping that the minor difference would let her pull away.

Then she spotted, of all things on this highway, a turn. It was slight, but at 265 km/h, she was still going too fast to make it. She kicked the brakes hard, and the steering wheel began to loosen. The car was not designed to brake suddenly at this speed, and it began to fishtail on her. She let up and steered into the slide, trying to regain control. But she was still sliding.

She was still sliding! She cranked the wheel against the turn and floored the accelerator to steer into the turn. Then the short straightaway revealed another turn back into the original direction. She pulled the car out of the drift and swung the rear end around for the next drift. The car rattled, trying to warn her against these measures as it usually did. The turns had cut down her speed, so at the end of the turn, she straightened out and accelerated again.

Then she glanced in her left sideview mirror. The IPA craft, seemingly seconds away from the turns she just took, opened up its right airbrake and pitched into the turn. Bad move, especially on this narrow stretch of highway. She suspected that the craft's pilot realized the same thing because the cockpit suddenly lit with escape rockets as the pilot ejected. The craft, locked in its turn since the pilot no longer controlled it, crossed the narrow gap to the other side of the highway and sailed over the side. Its landing kicked up a spray of water that barely made it into the headlights of the startled drivers on the opposite side.

Tamaki settled back into her seat and laughed hysterically. She switched on the autodrive for a moment because she could not keep her eyes open. That was the first time she had ever seen someone else crash an AGC. She knew how to solve that problem, too, which was even funnier. All the pilot had to do was tap the airbrakes, first right then left, just enough to slide the nose in the right direction. He had the whole of eight lanes to correct his course; he was far enough from the road surface that the cars beneath would never feel the turning thrusters. It was more distance than racing craft had from the track, and she would have thought an AGC pilot for the IPA would know the highway well enough to expect that.

Her laughter died down as she realized how much that felt like the kind of thinking a regular AGC pilot would do. It was… weird. The IPA was still on her tail, so she dodged around a tanker truck too slow to get out of the way and pressed into the accelerator again.

Lights on the horizon behind her caught her attention, and she slowed down a bit. Orange on the right, blue on the left… a search and rescue craft? So soon? No, she realized. She gauged its height for a moment and realized that it was a roadside tanker. The IPA cruisers must be low on gas.

This thought caused her to glance at her own fuel gauge. She bared her teeth in annoyance; less than a quarter. She would need to fuel up, too, or else be stuck on the side of the road. There should be… yes, there they were. Signs indicated a halfway station up ahead, and they were bound to have a fuel station there. She slowed to the speed limit and ducked her car in front of a semi-trailer truck to her left, hoping that, even if the IPA cruisers caught up, they would not notice her traveling at the right speed. This was tricky, as she had to fight the velocitation trying to force the accelerator back into the floor. She set the cruise control again so she had a reason to keep her foot away.

She pulled into the halfway station sitting on an overhanging platform on the left side. On the other side of the well-lit building, the pumps were lined with other drivers fueling up. She found one free pump and slid into the spot before anyone else could. As she stepped out, she realized that she could not use her bank card for fear that checking the transaction logs might rat her out. So she pulled her wallet from her breast pocket and gave it a look. Forty-five euros. And 0,68 € per liter. She shrugged and fed the money into the fuel pump. Then she pulled the gas cover off and started filling the tank.

"Belle voiture."

Tamaki glanced behind her. The man using the other side of the pump tipped his baseball cap at her. She gave him a smile and said, "Merci, mais elle est vieille voiture."

The man clicked his tongue at her. "Non, non, non, c'est voiture classique! Où est-ce que tu l'achètes?"

"Les Philippines."

"Ah, une Philippine!"

Tamaki's friendly smile turned into an annoyed frown. "Non. Je suis Japonaise."

The man looked taken aback for a moment. "E-excusez-moi…" With that, he turned back to his car.

Tamaki sighed after turning around. "'Nda, sono hannou? Chotto shitsurei janē ka?"

The pump beeped at her, so she replaced the nozzle and closed the fuel door. After frowning at the pump, she got back in and started the car. Her fuel gauge read over half a tank, so she hoped that it would be enough to get her into France. She pulled into the small queue waiting to get back on the highway on the far end of the station. Her clock said 2255. As if to double-check the time, she glanced out to her left. The sun was gone, and stars had filled the sky. How long had the IPA cruisers been following her?

_Whup-wrrrrrrh… whup-wrrrrrrrh…_

Tamaki's brain spurred back into action at the sound of the IPA sirens in the distance. They had not given up yet! She sighed.

"Mata… yatte miru ka?" she said to herself with a grin.

Then she jammed her foot into the accelerator, cranking the wheel hard to the left as the car in front of her pulled forward. Her action was met with a chorus of angry horns as she used the shoulder to squeeze past the waiting cars. The space was narrow, but she got through without a scratch and roared past the next car pulling onto the highway. As soon as she hit the highway, the override light came on. She gunned the engine, slamming the gear shift in response to the car's noise. The car was at 100 km/h in minutes. She did not bother waiting for them to close any further, taking the Stormline up to 210 km/h while hoping that other drivers heard the sirens well in advance enough to get out of the way. She glimpsed a sign saying that Montpellier and Marseille were about…

Wait, Montpellier?

Perfect! She knew some of the roads around there, having ducked out a few times while the AGC was being repaired. It was a perfect haven!

_W-whup-wrrrrrrrrrrrrh! W-whup-wrrrrrrrrrrrrh!_

The unusual variation of the IPA siren sounded from in front of her! Another AGC was screaming down the highway straight for her! For a moment, she considered that this time, she would not be getting away. The AGC would be able to snag her with a suspensor beam located under the craft, and then it would all be over.

Then she smacked herself. So what if it had a suspensor beam? It would have to lock onto her car first. And the craft would have only a split second to get that lock before she was underneath it.

Provided that she kept this speed.

Her mad grin returning, she pushed the car to 220… 230… 240… 260…

280…

290 km/h. She could hear the engine straining. But with the craft ahead and the cruisers behind, the whole road must have been clear for the next few kilometers. This gave her a good lead on them all the moment she passed the craft.

But as she approached the craft, the lights began to bother her. Their increasing brightness made seeing a little difficult at first. Her eyes just could not adjust to it. By the time the craft filled her windshield, she was almost blind.

Then the car shook as she went under craft. It felt as if she had hit a seam in the road and double-checked the mirrors. Three more IPA cruisers suddenly lit up underneath the AGC, which was turning in place. A trap? She looked at her dashboard, but the flat tire lights did not appear. She was certain that she had hit spike sticks and grinned.

"Panku sarenai taiya da yo~," she said with a satisfied lilt in her voice. She brought the car back down to 265. She would have to maintain it for a while just to be sure she had a lead on that AGC.

City lights appeared on the horizon. The road split up ahead, and she slipped onto the branch leading to Montpellier. This narrowed the road, and both she and the IPA craft had to slow down. She ducked between other drivers. The IPA pilot had to angle the craft so he would not end up in the drink like the earlier idiot. Even after he settled over all four lanes of traffic moving to or away from Montpellier, he could not move any faster at the risk of hitting a bad turn and falling off.

Not that he needed to move fast. Tamaki could only maintain 120 km/h in this thicker traffic. Other drivers could not move over fast enough, and, a couple of times, she had to jump onto the shoulder to get past a slow semi-trailer truck that was blocking the road with a friend. Traffic choked up a bit, and she had to go 100 km/h for a stretch.

In the final stretch of road before Montpellier, whose towers she could now distinguish, the road split into a mad tangle of highway ramps leading many different directions. The AGC had come to a stop before it followed her onto roads where it would not fit. But the cruisers were closer now, so she had to duck in several different directions. At one point, she had steered the car onto the road toward Marseille, then she managed to find another ramp which led her toward Saint-Gilles. Then she hit an access road which took her back to the highway going back to Aljazair. Of course she did not remain long, but by this point, the IPA cruisers were scattered all over the messy highway. When the last IPA flash disappeared from sight and she could no longer hear their sirens, she found her way back onto the ramp leading towards Montpellier.

And, just to avoid getting stopped before her new destination, she turned the media computer and the autodrive on. After inputting her destination, she settled back against the seat to relive the chase in her head.


	4. Le Hôtel au Bord de la Mer

Chapter Four: Le Hôtel au Bord de la Mer

…

Tamaki stepped into the bar on the fifteenth floor of the Hôtel L'Aquarelle. With her car parked and her single piece of luggage already taken to her room, she decided to finish the night purging her mind of William and the Caiar team the best way she could think. Although her thrill crossing the Mediterranean had served part of that purpose, she could feel those thoughts about the team returning now that she was no longer behind the wheel. She did not feel the need to drink; having raced in a number of city circuits in the past few years, she found it difficult to actually sit down long enough to become significantly drunk. To her, drinking was a form of relaxation, a way to jerk herself out of an adrenalin high so she could appreciate how slow things around her really were. The occasion to completely forget about Caiar was merely a bonus.

The bar sported an older design. Black marble of differing shades formed a checkerboard pattern that spanned the whole floor until the roof terrace, where white marble prevailed under soft moonlight. The bar counter, just in front of the entrance along the adjacent wall, was rich mahogany edged with a band of polished bronze. An elaborate combination of glass and mirrors held the drinks of desire, seemingly guarded by the three, red uniform-clad bartenders as they slid past each other trying to serve their customers. Three rows of wood-top tables sat at the near and far sides of the interior room, leaving the space between the bar and the terrace clear for guests and waiters and waitresses to walk unimpeded. The ceiling sported pieces of a crimson evening sky, including moving clouds, peeking between a grid of arches colored to blend in. The air inside had a cool sea breeze flow through the interior room through the open windows on either side of the archway leading to the terrace; glass panels on the outside of the windows ensured that they caught the breeze. The patrons, occupying maybe a third of the tables inside the bar, carried on in soft words which Tamaki could not hear.

Relieved of her racing jacket, she could feel the cool air blow across her arms as she stepped up to the bar. One of the bartenders, a woman who could not be much older than her, turned her attention to Tamaki. "Bonsoir, Mademoiselle," she said with a disgustingly cute voice. "Un verre?"

"Cognac pur, s'il vous plait," Tamaki replied, trying to look a little more friendly.

"Avec plaisir, Mademoiselle. Une préférence?"

"Non." The bartender nodded and walked to the other side of the bar, squeezing past the male bartender as he mixed a drink. She returned with a bottle to show to Tamaki. Tamaki, without any particulars as to the kind of cognac she liked, gave a simple nod and pulled her phone out of the pocket of her racing suit bottoms. After examining the touch-screen phone that she had powered down before leaving Morocco, she placed the cover on the top of the bar and slid it across the barcode scanner hidden in the bar's seams. A soft _teeeeen_, reminding Tamaki of the sound of wine glasses tapping together in a toast, sounded from under the bar.

The bartender set a paper napkin down on the bar before setting the drink on top. "T'amuse, Mademoiselle," she said with a bow that left Tamaki confused and a little offended as she walked away with the drink cupped in one hand. The last time someone had bowed to her, it was the last Tokyo Underground racer whom she had beaten. The Vietnamese did not bow anymore; the Greater Internet News Network (which prefers to refer to itself as "GINN And Tonic") once put up a joke article stating that Vietnam's new national greeting was to punch each other in the face. Considering how some of the Caiar crew treated each other, she had thought it was true at first. The Philippines… now that she considered it as she stepped out onto the terrace, no one had ever shaken her hand or bowed to her. If anything, people tended to sniff like they had a runny nose when they first met her.

The evening breeze wove its way through the thick, grey tanktop she wore, giving her a comforting chill. The interior of her fire-retardant suit had been soaked with sweat from being confined in the craft's safety foam for half an hour in addition to the excitement from the chase. She stepped to one of the lounge chairs located at the far end of the terrace, set with the foot-end in the corner. Tamaki was never interested in looking proper; she set her drink on the small table next to the head of the chair so that she could drop onto it. She wished she had not a second later, realizing that the pillow sewn to the armrest was not as thick as it had appeared. She rubbed her head for a moment and glanced around to find people who had just watched her lapse in cool demeanor. No one else seemed interested in even walking out onto the terrace. Relaxed in the belief that she had saved herself some embarrassment, she picked her glass up and settled into the chair. She gazed past her boots and through the glass barrier out to the Mediterranean Sea sparkling in the half moon's light.

Her mind felt blank, and the strange part was she had yet to actually take a drink. The excitement of the day must have worn off. It had been a while since she had felt this relaxed. It probably had to do with how much work her usual day fit in. As part of the AG team, Tamaki had to be there to handle the craft, tell William if anything was wrong with the controls. The constantly crashed craft had had a number of smaller problems off the track, most of which William and his crew had found in the first three days alone. Control input problems, structural incompatibility with control surfaces, engine problems (Tamaki had heard cars backfire before, but a backfiring AGC liked to blow out whole plates of armor and give everyone in the maintenance bay the impression of having been hit by a grenade), insufficiently secured paneling… William could spend the rest of the year finding all of the bugs in the AGC, but Tamaki would never be convinced that the craft would not try to kill her.

She finally took a sip of cognac. Then she found herself laughing aloud. Her new profession gave her an anti-gravity craft that was nearly impossible not to crash, and yet she had been chased down by an IPA craft that now sat at the bottom of the sea. It amused her to think that, if she modified her car more, she might be able to race other AGCs in _that_ rather than risk her life in the Caiar craft. She could handle the Stormline better. Then she thought it would be funny if William could strap an AG plate to the bottom of the Stormline. It would not handle the same, but it would be hilarious to see other racing AGCs be beaten by a regular racing car.

Tamaki spend a little while on the terrace, finishing her drink after about half an hour. Then she moved to a table inside the bar and switched to sweet potato shōchū after one of the bartenders suggested it. She asked for it on the rocks, hoping the ice would help her cut down on how much she drank. More people arrived at the bar, and some of the hotel's service people brought out more tables and chairs to fill the open floor of the bar and the terrace. She checked her cell phone for the time every now and then. Midnight rolled into two in the morning, and the bar was abuzz with people.

"Excuse me." Tamaki, lost in the view out the window to her right, looked across her table. Two men stood at her table, one man holding a hand on the chair as if to sit. They wore tanktops covered in sweat and grim and a little small for their thick, muscular bodies. Their baggy work pants were held up by suspenders, looking about as clean. Their bronze, hairless bodies shone in the lights. For a moment, Tamaki thought they might be male prostitutes; she had known similar-looking men in the Philippines. "Mon ami and I, we could not 'elp notice you sitting 'ere," the taller one with short, blond hair told her with a smile. "Are you from worksite, too? Yes?"

"N-no…" Tamaki said, not entirely certain what worksite they were referring to.

"You are not from ze worksite?" he asked.

"N-no."

"Do you travel?"

Tamaki thought about it for a moment. "Yes, a little."

"'Ow long will you be in France?"

"I-I don't know."

His friend, sporting a thick mop of brown hair plastered to his head, gave his friend a slap on the arm. "Mets fin a banalités," he said. "Elle est étranger, elle est facile."

"Si elle est facile, pourquoi est-ce que elle est vêtu comme ça?" the blond replied with an irate look.

Tamaki blinked at them, unsure of what was going on. Part of her felt insulted that the brunet had called her a foreigner. Part of her was confused, as she had not quite understood what being a foreigner had to do with being "easy". Part of her felt self-conscious as she glanced down at her clothes, wondering what was wrong with her appearance. She made the glance as quick as possible, not sure whether or not she wanted them to know that she understood French yet.

"Ne t'inquiète pas!" the brunet said. "Elle ira belle sans vêtements."

"Jōdan suru ki ka…" Tamaki moaned while the blond replied to his friend with a question about his intuition. She took a drink from her glass.

"What do you drink, lady?" the brunet asked.

Tamaki winced; the brunet's English sounded ruder, like William. She forced a small smile and replied, "Sake."

"Sake?" the blond asked. Then he turned to his friend and asked, "Qu'est-ce saké?"

"Je ne sais pas," his friend answered. "Je crois il est verre chinois."

The blond looked back to her and asked, "Is it a… Chinese drink?"

"Japanese," Tamaki answered, looking a little annoyed. She wished she had not turned off her phone's call function; she could use William's unsolicited nagging to break up this awkward conversation.

"Ah, sorry," the blond said with a slight bow. He pulled out the chair. "Can I buy you ano—"

"Kimiko, mon amie!" someone suddenly shouted from her left. Tamaki responded to the typical Japanese name more than the shout itself and rose. A man, probably in his mid-thirties wearing a grey business suit, took her hand and kissed her on both cheeks. "Un plaisir te voir encore! Comment allez-vous?"

"E-excellent," Tamaki replied, feeling a little overwhelmed by the man's enthusiasm despite not knowing her. Or, at least, she _hoped_ he did not know her; she had met many people traveling around Europe (including French businessmen) and had a hard time remembering who was who. No, if this man knew her, he would have probably used her actual name.

"Très bien," the man said. "Ces voyages en avion te fatiguait, non?"

"N-non, je conduisais."

"Conduisais-tu?" He nodded with an impressed look on his face. Then he turned to the two men as if just noticing them. "Est-ce qui tes amis?"

"Nou—" the blond started.

But the brunet latched onto his arm to keep him quiet. "Nous venons juste de décider de partir," he said. Then he tugged on his friend's bicep, indicating that they should leave.

Tamaki let out a relieved sigh and sat down. "Merci," she told the man.

"Je vous en prie," he answered with a smile.

"Parlez-vous l'anglais?"

"Yes, yes, I do," he said, nodding as he sat.

"Good," Tamaki answered with a soft smile.

Then she reached for the hand he had placed on the table. She slid her thumb under his middle finger and lifted the finger back. The man silently writhed in pain as she bent the digit backwards. "I don't know what your game is," she told him in a careful voice, "but if you expect these pants to come off that easily, I will break your fingers off one by one."

"I-I don't ask for anyzing," he said, trying to keep his voice level as he sank in his chair. "P-please."

"Don't lie to me; I am not that drunk."

He held up his other hand in surrender. "I-I don't lie. I just wanted to 'elp."

"So you don't expect sex?"

"N-no."

Tamaki released his finger. He wrapped his hand around the finger and rubbed the pain out of it. "Very… direct, are you not?"

She picked up her glass. "I've been jerked around enough for today."

He gave a nasal sound as he nodded his understanding. "I understand. No, I don't mean anyzing else. I really just wanted to 'elp; you looked, eh, very uncomfortable."

Tamaki swallowed before saying, "Well, I suppose my conversation wasn't as smooth as I wanted it to be."

"But I am surprised," he said, holding up a hand to flag down a waiter. "Did zose men know you understand French?"

Tamaki shrugged and took another drink. "I'm a foreigner."

He smiled and said to the waiter, "Vin de pays."

"Local?" the waiter asked.

He nodded. "S'il vous plait." He turned back to Tamaki. "If you will allow me?"

Tamaki gave him a half-smile. "Imojōchū avec des glaçons, s'il vous plait."

"Avec plaisir," the waiter replied as the man put his bank card on his tray.

"I zought you drank sake," he said.

"Shōchū," she said. "I don't know why I told them sake; I guess I thought they'd pick up that I'm Japanese." She thought for a moment. "You did. You called me 'Kimiko'."

"I 'eard ze word 'Japanese' as I walked past," he said.

"Well, my name isn't Kimiko."

He nodded his understanding. "Kimiko is woman in ze office where I work."

She nodded and took a drink. "My name is Tamaki. Hayashi Tamaki."

"Tamaki," he mused. "I like ze sound." He looked up as the waiter returned with another shōchū and the man's bank card. Then the waiter set down his tray and held out a bottle for the man to examine. "Ce fera l'affaire." The waiter pulled the cork out and poured a glass. After the man took it, the waiter took his tray and left. "My name is Placide Deschamps."

"Placide," Tamaki repeated before finishing her glass. "It means 'quiet', right?"

"Or calm," Placide told her. He sloshed his wine around a bit before taking a drink.

Tamaki raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't you sniff it before you drink it?"

"I don't want to criticize it," Placide said. "I'm zirsty."

"Right," Tamaki said, sliding her empty glass away.

Placide made a pleased sound after another sip. "Actually, I do not have much room to be demanding. I do not make zat kind of money."

Tamaki raised her new glass to him. "That is a nice suit for someone who doesn't make that kind of money," she joked before taking a drink.

He tugged his necktie loose. "Ah, but zere is fine line between 'aving suit and 'aving money. Ze money zat lets me 'sniff' wine, I will not 'ave for long time."

"Too bad; I thought you had money."

Placide gave a hearty chuckle. "Life in ze import business, it does not 'ave ze elegance. I am only accountant."

Tamaki took a drink. While the glass hid her mouth, she twitched her eyebrows. "I bet you have a wild side, though."

"Oh, but of course!" he laughed. "Sometimes, I put on pink socks just so see if my colleagues notice."

"Haaaaah," Tamaki breathed, setting down the glass. "And that's it?"

"Zat is it."

"No car?"

Placide leaned back in his chair and spread his arms out. "Zis is France. I ride ze autobus or taxi."

"Have you ever ridden a roller coaster?"

"I don't like 'eights."

Tamaki gave him a devilish smile. "But I bet you like speed."

Placide shook his head before taking another sip of wine. "I only ever know ze speed of business. It is… not very impressive."

"So poor and boring. Next you'll tell me you live with a dozen cats."

"I am allergic to cats."

"Ha! Well, that's one point."

"Out of 'ow many?" Tamaki just smiled at him and took another drink. "So what do you do? Somezing exciting?"

Tamaki set her glass down and pulled her cell phone out. "I'm an anti-gravity craft pilot."

Placide raised his eyebrows. "An anti-gravity… pilot?"

Tamaki turned on her Internet browser and pulled up Caiar's racing publicity page. "Hard to believe?"

"I always sought AG pilots were men."

Tamaki found a picture of her in a black bikini sitting on top of Caiar's AGC and showed it to him. "We're a rare breed."

Placide took the phone and scrolled through the page. "No wonder you 'ave zis fascination wis speed. But, uh… looking at zis page, you look more like a model."

"Yeah, well, that's the company playing up my image," Tamaki said before taking a sip. "A whole profession, and there are only three women drivers in all the racing teams. I think the other two are Auricom and Kiosq. Their teams do the same; I'm surprised I didn't see any of those Kiosq advertisements while I was in Morocco."

"You were in Morocco?" he asked in a surprised tone. "Why zere?"

"Practice run in Porto Kora this morning."

He passed her phone back. "'Ow did you do?"

"I crashed." Placide seemed to stammer before swigging the last of his wine in one gulp. "I'm not worried. It's happened before."

"And… you did not, uh, become injured?"

Tamaki giggled at him. "Believe it or not, I don't actually race in a bikini. They won't do that because it's hard to take a photograph of the cockpit at three hundred miles an hour."

"Naturally, naturally," Placide chuckled.

Tamaki's laughing died down as she looked at her drink. "It's… actually kind of stupid. Male racers get endorsement deals, status as national heroes. Females get fancy clothes and billboards with their boobs on display."

Placide picked up on the serious tone she had taken. "You don't approve."

She flicked the lip of her glass, causing it to ring for a split second. "Some of those things appeal to _other_ girls. Not me. I _hate_ clothes. And no one appreciates my chest. I got offers from five different plastic surgeons to have my breasts enhanced. Apparently, Caiar doesn't appreciate an A-cup."

"Zat is sad," he told her. "You look like a very nice woman as you are."

"I've had seven reporters in Đa Nang ask me how old I was. They couldn't believe I was twenty-three, let alone a pilot."

"Well, you _do_ appear more as a model," he pointed out.

She shook her head. "I joined Caiar so I could race. No one knew me in the Tōkyō Underground. I liked it like that."

"Is zis why you are in a bar?"

She gave a half-smile. "No. I'm in a bar because my maintenance chief is a dickhead. And… as fast as I like to drive, I like being slow, too."

"So does zat give me another point?"

Tamaki's mouth popped open, and she gave him a disbelieving look. Then she shook her head and took another sip. "For someone not trying to get into my pants, you seem eager to rack up points."

He offered a cheesy grin. "Am I being too, eh, arrogant?"

Tamaki idly ran a finger around the edge of her glass. "Tell me. Do you often pick up girls at a bar?"

"Trusfully, no."

She picked up her drink.

"Keep talking."


	5. Futsukayoi tte, Hitori ni Sasete

Chapter Five: Futsukayoi tte, Hitori ni Sasete

…

When Tamaki woke the next morning, it was most definitely not her idea. Her head thrummed hard in response to her own heartbeat. The room, painted eggshell white, caused her to squint against the massive amount of light reflecting into her eyes from the wall. She tried not to move too much, as each sound the mattress made gave her the impression that there were rocks grinding together in her head. She moaned and tried to pull the bedsheet over her face. But the sheet was stuck. Then she realized that someone else was in the bed with her. Carefully, she sat up and, shielding her eyes against the brilliant white of the curtains, glanced at the bed to her left.

A man slept there, rolled onto his left side so that he would be looking at her once he woke up. His thick, blond hair was a complete mess. He was not wearing a shirt, only having the bedsheet pinned under his armpit for clothing. He slept quietly with an amazingly peaceful look on his face. She was not sure he was still alive until she noticed his hairy chest moving.

Then, feeling the bedsheet slip down her own frame, she looked down and noticed that she was completely naked. As the remainder of last night started piecing itself together, she glanced off into space and muttered to herself, "Sou da." She carefully slid her legs from under the bed's covers and stood up. When she found her companion had not been disturbed, she started searching around the bed for any signs of clothing. His clothes were sitting on a chair in a corner next to the window. A pair of her panties, cheap, pastel blue with an elastic band, hung on one of the knobs on the chair's back. Since she could not find anything else nearby (not even her suitcase, although she could not remember whether she packed one or not), she decided to slip them on.

_Khhhhk! Khhhhk! Khhhhk!_ Through her sudden dislike for noise, she recognized a ringtone from her cell phone. The sound was a garbled clip of an old mechanic friend of hers using a socket wrench to fix some part of her Stormline, but the proximity to the phone when she had made the recording had turned the sound into an irritable crunch that sounded nothing like she had expected. It was appropriate enough because she had recently assigned the sound to start playing when the phone received a call from William Fairland. Her concern for that sound faded into lethargy and irritation. She did not want to talk to William, especially knowing that the first words out of his mouth would likely be fussing about not being in Granada with the rest of the team. At first, she planned to wait until she could find more clothes. But as she turned around to find the bathroom, she realized that, while she was naked, William might be too distracted to remember why he called. Thinking so, she abandoned her search and walked into the sitting room.

The ringing came from the phone, but the television set opposite the bedroom door showed her a screen saying "Appel Qui Vient". She vaguely remembered setting up the Antcom connection from her phone before she and Placide had wandered into the bedroom. It meant that the television, along with its camera, would receive and transmit video. Even better, since her naked status would be more than an offhand remark. She sat on the couch in front of the television and, after picking up the phone, stretched her arms across the back. Although it caused her breasts to almost disappear into her thin frame, it should be enough of a show to distract him.

She pressed her thumb into the phone's touchscreen and looked up at the ceiling. "Nan da?" she groaned.

"Tmakee, wha… wadda faks ron gwiz hyu?" That was definitely William's voice, but it sounded as if he was talking through a full mouth. She could barely understand him, although his tone said he'd caught on to her appearance very quickly. She glanced at the screen, knowing that an automated Japanese-to-English translation should be on the screen.

タマキは…貴方になんか間違った性交していますか。

Although, it tended towards notoriously unreliable translations when William swore. If she did not have a hangover, she could normally pick out where the translation had gone awry. Of course, if she did not have a hangover, she would have no trouble understanding his brand of English; the translator was on in case someone she did not regularly understand called her. However, she could not tell what the yellow characters under an irritated image of William's upper half meant due to not being able to think clear enough. Since William, wearing his team jacket and sporting a face half-covered with some black muck, gave her an irate look, she guessed that it had not been a pleasant statement.

She decided to disregard that first statement and asked in English, "What do you want?"

"Wew, nai mwondrin waiyer naked," he replied, showing her a disappointed look. The translator gave her: まあ、今は私は、何で貴方が裸ですか、と思っています。

Tamaki gave him a weak grin. "Do you like it?"

"Av seen hyu neike, Tam. You wain chein j'd mach." 私は、貴方が裸になったことを見ました、タム。貴方はあまり変わらなかったです。

She glanced down at her breasts. Then she relaxed her arms and stuck out her chest. "You don't like it?"

"Sop fakin raun!" he shouted. She was glad the phone had an auto-volume function. She wished it was as reliable as the translator, which gave her: 回り性交し止めて。

She wrinkled her nose, not entirely sure what that last statement was supposed to be. Then she cupped her left breast and asked, "Did you need something?"

"Nami," he said. "Ed wadoz lukin fir ya." 私ではありません。エドワードは貴方を探しています。

"Edward?" she asked. "Who is 'Edward'?"

"Edwardo, hyor fakin fotag raffer!" エドワード。貴方の性交している写真家。

If she disregarded the verb, his statement became a little clearer. "Oh, him," she moaned. After giving her underwear a tug, she asked, "What does he want?"

"Auda fak shudai no?" どうして性交する私は知らなければなりませんか。

"Did he not tell you?"

"Eeza fakin fotog rafer, Tam. Waiels deebee lukin fir hyu!" 彼は性交している写真家です、タム。貴方を探している理由は他に有りますか。

She sighed. "We took pictures last week. Why does he need me now?"

"Aidong hiv adam! Jas gechur ass bager soil fakin leev mea lon!" 私はのろいを挙げません。彼は性交している私を一人にさせますので、ただ貴方の尻を出して。

"I want to keep my butt here," she said, hoping she interpreted that last statement right.

"Faku! Thelar hyu!" 貴方を性交して。貴方は地獄です。Tamaki moaned, lying down on the couch and pretending to fall asleep. "Hey!"

She opened one eye. "What?"

"Don wat me! Wear yu!" なに言わないで。貴方はどこに在りますか。

"I am in France," she said, turning so she was facing the ceiling.

"France? Dasda rait contain net, budda ron fa kinkun tree." She glanced over to find: フランスですか。それは正しい大陸だが、間違って性交している国です。

"It is close," she told him. "I can be there anytime I need."

"Beer nao! Fai godda list into piss ed animor, am guna fakink ilem!" ここに居て。もし私は、まだ小便の頭に聞かなければ、彼を性交して殺します。Tamaki snorted and quickly put a hand over her mouth. She found that laughing only made her head pound harder. "Wa?" 何ですか。

The snort had taken the humor out of the translation, and she fell into another miserable moan. "Nothing," she said as she draped one arm over the edge of the couch.

"Wada elz rong wit hyu?" 貴方と地獄にどうしましたか。

She lifted her leg and let it rest on the back of the couch. "I'm fine."

"Aryu un gover?" 貴方は二日酔いしていますか。

She let the leg fall and used a hand to push her hair out of her face. "And if I am?"

"Den yera fakin more on." ならば貴方は性交している馬鹿です。

Tamaki gave her shoulder a shrug. "Tha—"

"O cumon! Wadafak iz that!" マジですか。それは何の性交ですか。

"Houp!" came another voice. Since William was indicating something in the room with a hand (which must have been dangerously close to bashing out his screen), Tamaki used the back of the couch to pull herself up again. She found that Placide, having accidentally walked into the room, had ducked back into the bedroom with his head and shoulder leaning out the doorway. "Pardon, ma chérie," he told Tamaki, giving her an embarrassed smile. "Je ne sais pas que nous sommes tenue invités."

Tamaki glanced back at William to watch him glance at the bottom of the screen, probably reading a translation. "Weld ats fan dam tas tick," he said. まあ、それは「ファンダムタスティック？」です。That was rare; she had never known the translator to blatantly give up like that.

"Oh, glad you approve," Placide said.

"Goget sump ant son!" William shouted. ズボンを穿きに行って。

Tamaki watched Placide duck out of sight before turning back to William. "Oi!" she snapped. "Placide-san ni anna ni iidasuna yo! Kisama ni kankei _nai_!"

"Don chu giv meeth atcrap!" he shouted back. そのくそを私にくれないで。

"Yōkei na sewa da!"

"Huda eli zee!" 彼は地獄の誰ですか。

"Ittan darō? Kisama ni kankei nē!" Then she put her hands on the sides of her head, suddenly aware of the pounding that her screaming had caused.

"Nofun faittin ga hangover, huh?" he said with a grin. 二日酔いに耐えるのは楽しくないでしょう？ She wished she did not have to read him mocking her. But his face became a little more serious as he continued, "Luk, Tam, I donk air bou cher wanait stan. I rele don." ほら、タム。私は貴方の一夜だけの相手に構わないです。本当です。

"So why did you shout at him?" she asked, lying back on the couch. She was beyond trying to entice him with her body. She wanted to go back to sleep.

"Cuzai don needa see sum gaiz dong di surly inda more ning." 私は早朝に男のおちんぽを見たくないですから。 "Jus finnish dagai an gecher ass bakeer." その男を終えて戻って来て。

Tamaki gave an annoyed sigh. "Okay, okay. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Dasal I ask," he said. He hung up before the translator could give her that last sentence, but she understood him regardless. She gave a relieved sigh, set her phone on the table in front of her, and closed her eyes.

Then she felt someone's lips on her cheek and opened her eyes again. Placide pulled away from her, and she gave him a weak smile. "Hi."

"Hi," he replied. He had found his pants and also put on his shirt from last night, although he had not buttoned it up. "Are you… feeling okay?"

She reached up and played with a lock of hair protruding from one side of his head. "Are you saying that you aren't hung-over?"

"Of course not, ma chérie," he said. "I just, eh, slept more."

"Heh. Lucky."

"Was zat your boss?"

She gave her head a gentle shake. "No. That was my mechanic."

"Is your craft fixed?"

"No. He said my photographer wants me."

"Ze photographer? Why?"

She sighed. "I don't know."

He gave her a grin. "So, does zat mean we will not 'ave breakfast togezer?"

"Sorry."

"No, you don't 'ave to be," he said as he pulled away. "But, eh, will you at least 'ave coffee?"

She smiled again. "I think I have time for that."

On the other side of the television was a computer terminal built into the wall. While Placide sat at the terminal to order their coffee, she stood and went into the bathroom. After relieving herself, she found her clothes tossed aside in the bathtub. She had finished dressing when an attendant knocked on the door, bearing their coffee. They watched a bit of local television while they drank. Tamaki found that her head was a little clearer, and she replayed some of last night in her head while she watched television with Placide.

Then Placide put the rest of his clothes on, which made him look rushed as he went to the door.

Tamaki reached a hand over the couch as he walked past. "Wait a moment," she said.

"Yes?" he asked, stopping halfway to the door.

Tamaki giggled as she told him, "Come here and get my number, stupid."

He pursed his lips, giving her an uncertain look. "I don't know…" he said, his tease being given away by the smile he was trying to hold back. "I zought I was just one-night stand."

"Just ignore Bill," she said, reaching to the table for her phone. "Unless you'd prefer this to be a one-ni—" She suddenly broke off when she felt his warm breath on her neck. Her back arched as his lips probed her neck. Then she turned her head so that her lips met his, and they kissed each other for a moment. She pulled away and pushed the top of her phone into his reaching lips. "You better call me."

He held up his phone, showing her that her number was already in its memory. He pulled his head back so he could say, "I already 'ave it. And I will endeavor to call when my schedule allows."

She gave him a wicked smile. "It better be soon, or else my team will find you and beat you to a pulp."

"Of course, ma chérie."


End file.
